by Ali M. Cross
With some trepidation, he flicked the light on in the classroom—and saw his music sitting on top of the piano. She’d tidied it up and set it all neatly in a pile. That was a kindness, he guessed. At least she hadn’t flung it all around the room and left him to pick it up. He’d known musicians to do that.
He slumped onto the bench. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he let go of this feeling crushing him from the inside? With frustration he propped his elbows on the keyboard, barely noticing the clang of notes that rang out in discordant cries. He covered his face in his hands and for the umpteenth time that night, he prayed.
He sat like that for a long while before eventually reaching up for the stack of music. His mind elsewhere, he shuffled all the pages together and tucked them into his binder. He supposed he’d have to figure out the hymn another time, and without Fiona’s help.
NIX DROVE DOWN THE MACDONALDS’ LONG DRIVEWAY, feeling more subdued than he usually did on Monday afternoons. The club was closed on Mondays and he had decided to dedicate the day to wish fulfillment. He’d always wished he could paint—so he attended art class at Summit High right along with the teenagers on Monday mornings. And he’d always dreamed of owning his own horse. Except he’d grown up in Vegas in a penthouse suite in the Bellagio, and he’d never ridden any horse except for the carousel ones at Circus Circus. But now he spent Monday afternoons mucking out Sailor’s stall, grooming her, and, sometimes briefly riding her. He went to the barn as often as he could to see her, but she was young and wild and still a bit too frisky for him to control on his own. He had to ride when Jack was there in case he lost control—which had happened once or twice.
When he’d approached Jack about helping him buy a horse, Jack had jumped right in, helping Nix every step of the way. Though Nix had a small barn out behind the club, Jack had encouraged him to board at the Highlands for a while, until Nix felt 100% comfortable with all that caring for a horse involved. From the barn work to the husbandry, Jack intended to teach Nix everything he knew.
When Jack had taken Nix to the horse auction down in Denver a few months ago, the point was to buy a nice old gelding, some gentle soul who would teach Nix as well as Jack could. But as soon as Nix saw Sailor, he was a goner. She was a four-year-old Friesian mare just itching to lunge into battle. Friesians aren’t your usual ride around the Colorado mountains, and the mare wouldn’t be content to take a beginner along quiet trail rides. But Nix wouldn’t hear anything of it. He paid an exorbitant price for her and immediately named her Sailor Moon because she seemed like she could fly over the moon. Plus, he’d had a crush on Sailor Moon for years when he was a little boy and still loved the anime.
Since then, he and Sailor had become the best of friends—even though she threw him from her back roughly every other time he rode her.
He was always both anxious and excited on riding days because getting thrown was never fun, but riding Sailor was incredibly exhilarating. Today though, it wasn’t the equine female that had him nervous, but the human one named Fiona.
He glanced at the house as he drove toward the barracks, the nickname for the older of the two barns. He both wanted to see Fiona, and hoped to avoid her at all costs. He’d seen her in the barn last week but hoped to god that she’d be busy somewhere else today. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face her after last night.
He parked in front of the barracks and grabbed his cowboy hat off the passenger seat. He felt that familiar buzz in his gut when his boots ground into the dirt as he marched toward the door. He always felt simultaneously cool and like a faker in his outfit. He hadn’t yet adopted the flannel shirt like most of the men around River Mile favored, but he wore the boots, the hat, and the oiled canvas jacket Jack had introduced him to. They were comfortable, warm, and did their job. Plus, okay, he really did look cool. Like an old cowboy in one of the Westerns that used to play on TV Sunday afternoons.
The barn was quiet inside, with the back doors overlooking the pastures flung open wide. He didn’t hear the snuffling of horses or scuffs of hooves in the straw, so he figured most of them were turned out for the day. It was beautiful outside—clear, golden skies and mild temperatures. A perfect early autumn day, especially here in the mountains where everything was tinged with gold. Autumn didn’t exist in Vegas, so he appreciated it.
He hoped Sailor wasn’t turned out though, because he was terrible at getting her to come in. Jack could go out and whistle and practically all the horses would come galloping toward him—including Sailor—but she always ran away from Nix. Not in the I’m so scared of you get away, kind of way, but in a I know you’re a poser and you don’t know what you’re doing so I’m going to make you work for it sort of way. Nix sighed, fervently hoping she was in her stall.
He stopped at the tack room to gather up the leads and bucket of grooming tools, and headed down the right wing of the barn. As he walked, he heard quiet humming coming from ahead. Coming from Sailor’s stall. He found himself stepping more lightly, breathing low, so he could better hear the singer.
He knew right away that it was Fiona. Who else would it be? This was different, and the only thing different about this place, was Fiona. She was humming a haunting tune—definitely not opera, maybe folk? A Scottish folk song of some sort. He liked it, and when he was a stall down from Sailor’s, he stopped and leaned against a post. In his mind he strummed his guitar along with Fiona’s song, adding his own harmonies and counterpoints. Until she stopped singing.
She didn’t just stop singing, she seemed to have stopped moving, stopped breathing. Sailor whuffled, but she didn’t respond. Nix suddenly realized that he’d been found out. Not knowing what else to do, he made a bit of noise with his bucket and started walking again. He still tried to do it quietly, so she’d think he was just super quiet, not that he’d been holding back so he could eavesdrop on her.
“Oh hey,” he said in mock surprise when he saw Fiona standing with Sailor inside her stall. She stood with her back toward the door, but he could tell from the set of her shoulders that she’d been expecting someone—but not him from the way she spun around, an indecipherable expression on her face.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded once she’d recovered from her surprise. Nix forced himself not to chuckle, because he had a feeling she wouldn’t enjoy that, but man she was adorable. He doubted many men had found Fiona MacDonald adorable, with her elegant features and silky hair and the air of superiority she wore draped around her like a cloak. But for Nix, all those things seemed like trappings. Like things she put on—not her, at all.
He saw the girl in the woman. The freckles and summer-sun skin. He saw the blush that sprang to her cheeks like a sudden sunrise. He saw her standing there, in her green T-shirt, faded jeans and cowboy boots that looked twenty years old, her hair in a braid down her back and frizz escaping all along its length. He remembered the humming and thought—here she is. Here she really is. He opened the stall door and took a step toward her, drawn in by her natural beauty and the vulnerability on her face. He wanted to see it up close again, to see if her freckles were brown or blonde. To see if her eyes were all gray or if there was some green or blue in them.
She put her hands on her hips and said coolly, “I said, what are you doing here?”
“Oh.” He pulled up short. “I forgot you asked me that.” He set his bucket down and closed the door behind him. Sailor had a double-wide stall, but even with her and Fiona in it, he wished it were a little smaller so he’d have a reason to get closer to Fiona.
“Well, this is my horse.” He smiled at Sailor, but she ignored him. Instead she nuzzled the top of Fiona’s head.
“Her?” Fiona asked in disbelief. “She’s your horse.”
Nix grinned. “Yup.” He leaned against the stall wall and crossed his arms. He enjoyed seeing her like this, without the Ice Queen act, with the rug pulled out from beneath her. “She’s beautiful.” He said it to confuse her more, to see if she’d react. Am I saying the girl’s b
eautiful, or the horse? Fiona did not disappoint. She cleared her throat and looked at her feet, then at Sailor—anywhere but at him.
“She is. She’s . . . inspiring.” She turned away from him and ran a hand along Sailor’s neck. The horse’s withers twitched and Fiona laughed.
“She’s ticklish,” Nix said, coming up to stand just behind Fiona. Sweat dewed her neck and tiny tendrils of honey blonde hair clung to her skin. He barely restrained himself from reaching out to smooth the hairs away.
“Is she, now?” Fiona asked and threw a look over her shoulder that socked Nix in the gut. She wasn’t the adorable girl anymore. She knew exactly what she was doing with that smoldering glance and she wasn’t playing fair.
“Anyway, Mondays are my only day to spend much time with her and I have to get ready for Jack’s lesson, so . . .” He picked up his bucket and moved in close to Sailor, deftly clipping a lead onto one side of her halter, then practically shouldering Fiona out of the way so he could get the next. She turned without a word and closed the stall door softly behind her.
When she was gone, Nix slid off his hat and rested his forehead against Sailor’s. She blew on his face softly, as if she could sense his emotions. One feisty, flirty female was just about all he could handle, and he’d paid dearly for her. He feared he might not be able to handle another one. Especially one who was just playing with him—she’d be leaving just as soon as she could and Nix was pretty sure he wasn’t going to enjoy saying goodbye.
He didn’t quite enjoy his time grooming Sailor as much as he usually did. He kept listening for Fiona out in the hall. Kept waiting for her to show up again, worried he’d get his words all twisted up. He didn’t know if it was him or her, but their signals did not seem capable of doing anything but crossing.
Sailor whipped her head up, strands of her long black mane lashing him in the face. “Okay girl, you’re right. It’s about that time. Let’s see if we can get you saddled up.”
He collected his grooming gear into the bucket and returned to the tack room. He saw another set of tack was gone from its spot. Maybe Jack was just standing back to see how Nix did with Sailor on his own. Kinda freaky thought, he thought. Like everyone’s been zapped up by aliens. “Creepy,” he said under his breath.
He hung the bridle over his shoulder like Jack had taught him and hefted the saddle. He found Sailor dancing between her leads, back and forth, side to side. “Great,” he said. “You’re gonna be a real pleasure to get dressed, aren’t ya, honey?”
She gave him a sideways look that he swore hid an eye roll. “Don’t be like that. As soon as you get dressed, we’ll go for a nice long ride. Maybe today you won’t try to throw me.” He set the saddle down over the stall door and slid the bridle on over the halter, careful to buckle it beneath the lead lines. “You sure are one beautiful female, Miss Moon.” He stroked his hand down her long, black neck, enjoying the way her mane fell over his arm.
The day Jack took him to that auction down in Denver, Nix knew nothing about horses other than he wanted one. Since that day, he’d become a near expert on the Friesian breed. Tall and all black with a wide, elegant body, gloriously long mane and tail with puffs of hair at her hooves, Sailor was a perfect specimen of the breed. She loved to throw her head, sending her mane flying—as expertly as any woman he’d ever met. She was a feisty one, his Sailor, and it had been love at first sight.
He grabbed the saddle pad and turned toward his mare. She sidestepped her hindquarters away from him. “Hey now, I thought we had an agreement,” he said soothingly. “You be a good girl and get dressed without any trouble, and I’ll take you out.” She seemed to listen, and stood still long enough for him to get the pad and saddle on and the girth tightened. “Good girl,” he crooned, sincerely pleased with her—and himself.
With a sigh of satisfaction, and not a little pride at having done it all himself, he took the reins in his hand and unhooked the harness. He led her out of the stall and through the barn while Sailor pranced behind him. Where is Jack? he wondered. Usually his friend would have shown up by now to see if he needed any help with the saddling. Even if Jack was testing him, it was a bit unnerving to feel so alone. He hoped it was okay to lead Sailor out to the staging area, but it was almost time for his lesson to start and he didn’t know what else to do.
Outside the barn, Nix stumbled to a stop and Sailor ran into his back, knocking him forward a few steps. He barely noticed because his mind had frozen somewhere between the first and second steps outside.
Jack wasn’t there at all. It was Fiona who looked back at him with a bored expression.
Fiona purposefully chose Daisy for today’s ride. The mare had been old when Fiona was a teen. When she found Daisy out in the pasture, the old girl had come to her as soon as she heard the cluck of Fiona’s tongue. The tips of her ears were gray and her muzzle was nearly white with age, but her eyes were still clear as she ambled toward Fiona. Fiona grinned as she waited for the horse to slowly make her way over. Slow was exactly what Fiona had in mind.
Let Nix try to keep that spirited horse of his under control while they took a nice, leisurely ride down the soft slope of the property and looped around the pastures. The easiest ride possible. From what Fiona saw of Sailor, she’d be beside herself to let loose and get some wind beneath her hooves. And from what she saw of Nix, Sailor was at least a hundred times more horse than he could handle. What he was thinking buying her, she had no clue. He had no clue—that’s for sure.
She’d been waiting at least ten minutes by the time she heard the skipping clop of Sailor’s hooves echoing out from the barn. She glanced at Daisy who stood, head hung low and eyes half closed, then assumed the most bored and condescending posture she could imagine. She had some notion that she was probably overdoing it, but she pushed the thought aside.
Nix made her uncomfortable. He was everywhere—and in every thought. It seemed at every turn he’d had the upper hand—he was the good guy when she had her panic attack; he figured out she’d been attacked before she’d been ready to admit it to anyone; and he embarrassed her at church when he turned out to be the choir director.
Being the church choir director and owning a variety club in Podunkville did not make him a master musician. She’d studied with the best musicians in the country—even taken master classes from some of the best in the world. She’d spent six years in dedicated study. And even she wouldn’t call herself a master. She wouldn’t dare. The masters had decades on her. And they had everything on Nix. Sure, he said he’d grown up in music and even performed all over the world but what did that even mean?
As she listened to Sailor’s hooves on the barn floor, she realized it was her pride that had been hurt and now she was just being petty. She scuffed her boot into the dirt. She knew there was more to Nix’s story—and more to him. Daisy nudged her gently and Fiona turned to her, wrapping her arms around her old friend’s neck. She breathed in Daisy’s warm scent and let some of the crazy seep out of her.
The truth was, when he’d shown up in Sailor’s stall this morning, he’d caught Fiona in a vulnerable mood. She’d been trying out her voice for the first time and it hadn’t felt right—and of course she’d been thinking about him. When she saw him, she wanted to wipe the slate clean, to forget all about last night at the church, to forget all the ugly business that hung between them. And she thought he wanted that, too. There’d been tension between them, hadn’t there? The good kind, like the tension in the music right before a chord change. But then he’d pushed her aside like she was nothing.
Which, considering she pretty much felt like nothing right now, shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. But it had. And it hurt.
She didn’t even know what she really wanted. Who she really was. She felt real on the stage—she loved performing for an audience, loved the applause that followed. But…
There were negative things there, too, that she wasn’t willing to look at. Things she glossed over because they weren’t perfect.
Like the lifestyle. The loneliness. The long hours. The exhaustion. And the fact that she spent most of her time in character.
How could she know what she wanted if she spent most of her time pretending to be someone else?
She stuffed her swirling, conflicted emotions down deep where she could ignore them, and narrowed her eyes as Nix walked out to the staging area in his new boots and hat. Oh he had swagger, she’d give him that—but it was the kind of swagger that belonged to . . . she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Pride and confidence, yes. But not country. Not New York, either. What was his story? No one just shows up out of nowhere and buys a rundown bar in the middle of nowhere. No one does it with cash and then goes out and buys himself one of the most expensive horses in the state.
Whatever else he might be, she was sure of one thing. Nix wasn’t telling the truth about who he was, either, and he had no business owning a horse like Sailor. She deserved someone who could give her the kind of freedom and release of a fast, exhilarating ride. A horse like that didn’t want to be ridden around the ranch at a slow walk. She wanted to fly.
“Took you long enough,” she said, levelling her best bored stare at him. She quickly assessed Sailor’s gear and at first glance was disappointed to see that it looked well done. Until she watched Sailor breathing—then she hid a grin behind her hand.
Nix led Sailor over to the stool standing in the middle of the small enclosure.
“You don’t need that,” Fiona scoffed as she moved quickly to kick the stool out of his way. “You’re a big guy. And you’ve been riding Sailor here for how long?”
Nix looked with concern at the stool as it tumbled out of reach. “August?” he said as he turned his attention back to Fiona.